


The Lost Art of Keeping Two Secrets

by robotboy



Series: Flying Blind [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (again), Blindfolds, Bondage, Graphic violence is for bounty hunting, Light BDSM, M/M, Mission Fic, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: Din Djarin runs into Poe Dameron on a job, and one thing leads to another. And another. Again.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Flying Blind [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698328
Comments: 45
Kudos: 265





	The Lost Art of Keeping Two Secrets

‘Hi.’

Din didn’t startle. He made a point of not startling, even if he usually saw people coming before they saw him. His hand shifted to the whistling birds, poised to trigger them as he turned to see who was speaking.

It took him a moment to recognise the man’s face in the gloom. Poe Dameron, ace pilot, Resistance spy, and one of the better lays Din ever had. Three years had been kind to him—not in the least because he was still alive, meaning nobody had collected the bounty on his head.

‘Thought I saw the Razor Crest,’ Dameron smiled.

Din had docked his ship in a spaceport fifty klicks away, but clearly Dameron had done the same.

The kid clambered to the edge of the roof and lay down beside Din. ‘What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?’

Din turned back to face the target. There weren’t a huge number of reasons why a bounty hunter would be lying on a rooftop with his rifle out. Dameron wasn’t stupid, and Din wasn’t inclined for small talk.

Dameron shuffled, getting out a set of binoculars. The movement brought him hip-to-hip with Din, but he was pretending not to notice as he propped himself on his elbows and looked at the tower opposite.

Dameron clicked his tongue. Speaking softly, so soft Din had to lean closer to hear, he said: ‘That rifle better not be pointing at the window on the left.’

Din sighed. His rifle was pointing at the window on the left. ‘Is he Resistance?’

Bounty hunters couldn’t afford to be choosy about jobs, especially bounty hunters with a rapidly growing kid to feed. Din had botched a job for Dameron’s benefit before. He wasn’t eager to do it a second time.

‘Depends,’ Dameron gritted his teeth. ‘If he’s here to sell our intel to a First Order contact then I’d say no, not anymore.’

‘Hmm,’ Din responded.

Dameron seemed to accept the conversation was over, and settled beside him. The heat of him was distractingly strong between the plates of beskar. Dameron kept still, but still in a way that suggested a fierce concentration on stillness. Twitchy flyboys weren’t cut out for surveillance jobs. The tension radiated from him, and got under Din’s skin. It was too easy to recall how that hip had felt in Din’s hands, how Dameron’s chest glowed with sweat when he was undressed.

Din pushed the thought aside. He moved his elbow, aiming the rifle’s prongs at the target’s room.

‘What’re you doing there?’ Dameron lowered the binoculars to watch him.

‘Ssh,’ Din muttered. He twiddled with the dial until his receiver began to pick up the footfalls in the target’s room.

‘You better not shoot this guy,’ Dameron warned.

Din had every intention of shooting this guy.

‘Look, he’s got a communica—‘

Din kicked him in the ankle. Dameron shuffled obstinately, somehow moving closer to Din’s side in the process. But he was quiet, so Din could eavesdrop on the target’s conversation.

_‘Moff. You got the money?’_

‘He’s talking,’ Poe murmured. ‘But I can’t...’

 _‘Shut up,’_ Din hissed. ‘I can.’

 _‘All cross-sector ops, and proof the Senator authorised them,’_ the target promised. A pause, and Din twiddled his settings to catch the rest. _‘Twentieth floor, end of the hall.’_

The target put his communicator down and checked his blaster. He removed two code cylinders from his pocket and placed them in a drawer.

Dameron stiffened then. He hadn’t heard the conversation, but he recognised the goods. Din adjusted his rifle’s settings again. This would be a hell of a lot easier without the distractions.

‘Once we confirm he was talking to a First Or—‘

Din pulled the trigger.

 _‘Karabast!’_ Dameron jolted. The target disintegrated, no evidence left of the kill but a hole in the window. ‘I just told you he was Resistance!’

‘You just told me he was selling you out.’

Din kept his eyes on the window.

‘My mission was to bring him in!’ Dameron snarled.

‘Mine was to take him out,’ Din snapped.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ Dameron said.

‘Get the binoculars,’ Din told him. ‘That the Moff?’

Dameron whipped the scope up. Both of them peered at the figure entering the target’s room. She had the tailored shoulders and severe haircut that Imps loved to wear.

‘That’s her!’ Poe hissed. ‘Vice-Moff Sor—‘

Din shot her.

‘Damn it all to hell!’ Dameron threw his binoculars down.

‘Don’t tell me you’ll miss her,’ Din grumbles.

‘Someone will!’ Dameron’s voice got higher. ‘She _exploded!_ what kind of blaster _does_ that?’

‘Mine,’ Din muttered.

Dameron trailed off with a string of curses.

Din brushed his thumb over the butt of the rifle. He should get up. He should leave the city and be back on the Razor Crest before anyone in the hotel noticed anything amiss.

He sighed.

‘You have to collect that intel,’ he told Dameron.

Dameron shifted beside him. ‘I know.’

‘Can you get up there?’

‘I’ve got a room on the same level,’ Dameron said.

‘I’ll cover you,’ Din said, against his better judgement. Better judgment always seemed to go out the window the moment Dameron was around.

‘Thanks,’ Dameron nudged his hip against Din’s, an oddly affectionate gesture. Then he got up, collecting his gear. He paused a moment, standing beside Din. Din twisted, looking up at him.

‘Uh,’ Dameron scratched the back of his neck. ‘I’ll see you.’

‘No you won’t,’ Din reminded him.

‘Right,’ Dameron nodded, taking a deep breath. ‘Well, thank you for watching my back.’

Din looked him up and down: he was rumpled from lying on the roof, hesitation clear in his posture, whole body angled toward Din in a question. But Dameron couldn’t see where Din was looking. He nodded, and Dameron left.

Alone again, Din sighed. He trained his rifle back on the target’s window, and switched to the comm unit in his helmet.

Three squawks to the Razor Crest. He waited, trying to keep himself calm through the ensuing seconds of silence.

Three squawks back: the kid was safe. Probably just distracted by a holovid, like usual. Din reminded himself it was a phase, and a useful one for the kid to be going through while his father was out on dangerous missions.

Din flipped the comms off, focusing again on the hotel. The door jiggled, and Din lay his finger beside the rifle’s trigger. Then Dameron appeared, shutting the door quickly behind him. He inspected the target’s suite, checking corners and blind spots methodically, blaster raised. Finally, he came to the window, peering at the two holes left by Din’s rifle: the only evidence the room had once been occupied. Even through a scope, Din could tell Dameron was marvelling at the precision.

Dameron’s eyes flickered up: there was no light on the roof, but he’d be able to guess Din’s precision. He lingered by the glass for another moment, then went to the drawer. Dameron retrieved the code cylinders with the intel, holding them up so Din could see they were safe. Then he swept through the suite, packing up all of the spy’s possessions. Probably making it look like the man had left without checking out: Din kept an eye on the door while Dameron fixed the suite.

Two minutes later Dameron straightened, and with a brief salute to the window, left the suite.

Din relaxed, the barrel of his rifle dropping. The job was done, and then some: target eliminated, one less Moff in the world, the ass of one Resistance fighter saved again.

It was a nice ass. Din tried not to think about everything he could have done with it tonight.

A light went on at the other side of the building. Din whipped his scope toward it. Dameron stepped into the suite, dropping the spy’s luggage and shutting the door.

Right: he’d said he booked his own room. Din watched as Dameron checked the room for traps. His shoulders visibly relaxed when he found it clear. He stowed the spy’s luggage next to his own, removing his jacket, boots, and blaster. Din kept watching: it couldn’t hurt to have extra eyes on the door, just in case.

Just in case.

Dameron disappeared for a minute, emerging from the ‘fresher with his face dripping. Din tightened the scope’s focus, until he could see a rivulet sliding from Dameron’s jaw to his throat. He padded barefoot around the room. Din thought he’d stop at the bed, maybe, as Dameron stretched his elbows over his head, rolling his neck and sighing in satisfaction. But he circled away from it, coming closer to the window. Din frowned in surprise, switching to the rifle’s long-range audio. He tuned it carefully, finding each of Dameron’s soft footfalls.

Dameron placed one hand on the glass, weight leaning forward. His head dropped between his shoulders where Din couldn’t see it. A droplet of water clung to a ringlet of Dameron’s hair, and Din stared as it fell.

‘You can hear me, can’t you.’

Din’s heart kicked in his chest. Dameron’s head tilted, slow, and he was watching through his lashes. There wasn’t any way he could see Din, but he was taking the gamble. His hips were canted back, his stance wide, his palm flexing in anticipation.

Dameron reached up with his free hand, finding the buttons of his shirt. The first one popped, and Din realised he was holding his breath. Dameron’s hand dropped to the next button, and Din exhaled so fast his visor fogged.

‘Maybe you can’t. Maybe you’ve left. Or maybe,’ Dameron drew a long, shuddering sigh. ‘You’re just watching.’

Dameron finished unbuttoning the shirt, taking altogether too long to untuck it from his pants. His hand was sliding under the waistband, feeling each hip as if it didn’t belong to him. Or, as if it were someone else’s hands.

Dameron removed his hand from the window and Din froze. Was this the end of the game? But Dameron shrugged the shirt free and planted his left hand on the glass again. Din’s scope was so clear he could see the aura of fog around each spread finger.

‘Because that’s how this works, right?’ Dameron’s lashes were shadows on his cheek as he looked down, unbuckling his belt. ‘I don’t see you, but you? You see me.’

His hips moved sinuously as the pants slid to the floor.

‘You see all of me,’ Dameron’s voice was lower, and huskier. Din moved instinctively closer to the edge of the roof to hear it.

 _That’s how this works,_ he’d said. The present tense: like this was a standing arrangement.

Dameron settled into a wide, languid stance. He was naked, and even backlit by the hotel room light, Din could see every detail. The fine hair dusting his thighs, the sharp definition of his waist, the way his cock was already filling. His head was tilted to one side, curls falling in front of his eyes. Like he was peeking back. But with the lights on, he probably couldn’t see anything but his own reflection.

And that thought was something else altogether.

‘You know,’ Dameron trailed his right hand from the taut tendons in his throat, fingers skating down his chest. ‘I still think about that time.’

He pinched his own nipple and shuddered, drawing his lip between his teeth.

Din’s throat was dry. Dameron had to be exaggerating, the way whined as he rolled his forefinger and thumb, flicking with a nail. He moved on to tease the other nipple and Din’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the reddened nub, unmistakably hard.

Dameron’s palm splayed, his hand sliding from his chest to his abdomen. His hips gave a twitch of anticipation, even as he slowed at his navel. His thumb brushed back and forth at the groove of his hip, and the shiver that coursed through him wasn’t so theatrical this time. This was genuine, judging by the way his cock jutted urgently out. His thick, short fingers were curling around it. A firm stroke, just to take the edge off.

Din swallowed. The skin of his throat bobbed against his cowl.

A soft sigh of relief escaped Dameron as he began to touch himself. Dameron frowned, his lip curling, chest rising and falling.

Din couldn’t keep the scope trained on all of Dameron at once: he made a choice. Dameron worked his cock slowly, almost lazily. His hand drifted and twisted along the shaft. He circled and teased the head, thumb swiping over the beading slick to smear it along the length. A stroke, another. He squeezed the base like he was holding himself back, now working in short, frustrating tugs until his cock was flushed dark and straining toward his belly.

Dameron grunted in frustration, hand darting up to his face. He licked his palm, broad and messy, a flash of pink between his fingers. Then he returned, this time with a groan, this time Din hesitating with the scope to take in the glistening sweat building on his throat, his chest, the way his abdomen shook with the effort of holding back.

Dameron’s head dropped between his shoulders as he watched himself, a low growl just on the edge of the sensors’ range. He was stroking himself firmly now, almost rough. His fingers danced and circled around the head, teasing the foreskin and tugging it back. Din swore out loud.

He was at least as hard as Dameron, and his cock ached against the cold duracrete of the roof.

A squeaking noise: Dameron’s left hand, struggling to stay braced on the window. His knees were shaking, almost enough to buckle. Not yet, Din thought. A little longer. Come on. A little more.

A snarl escaped Dameron. His left arm writhed, until his elbow was pressed to the glass, hand curling into a fist. It bumped the window uselessly, and Dameron stopped touching himself. He couldn’t hold back the whimper, Din was sure: the sound was too needy, too pathetic, from the sudden absence.

‘If you…’ his voice came out high, a desperately nasal tone. ‘You—you could. There’s no staff in the lobby.’

His fist clenched and unclenched, and he looked out the window. Not quite where Din was positioned, but a good guess. His eyes were impossibly darker, pupils thick and black, lashes slicked into points.

‘I looped the security feed when I got here,’ Dameron gritted out. ‘Nobody would know. If you came up here.’

He shook his head. Like he was convincing himself it was a fool’s errand. Better to give up, get off, get it over with. Why would he think Din would still be here?

Din had quick instincts. Good reflexes, and the ability to make decisions about what to do with them.

He flashed the light on his rifle. Two short bursts: no particular meaning, only… deliberate. An answer.

A lopsided grin appeared on Dameron’s face, still hazy with arousal. Then Din dropped the scope, shouldering his rifle. He rolled onto his back, groaning at the sudden lack of pressure on his front.

It didn’t take long to collect his things: it wasn’t meant to. That’s why it was going to be an easy job.

He swore again. Three squawks into the comms. Three back. The kid would be fine.

The whole way down one building, and the whole ride up the hotel’s elevator, he considered leaving. It was the smart thing to do. But his dick didn’t soften the whole way there. So smart lost.

By the time Din reached the door, Dameron was almost smug. But there was relief in his eyes, as well, true delight that Din had come.

It was too much, looking without being able to touch. Din crowded into Dameron’s space, until Dameron’s back was pressed to the wall. The door slid shut behind them and Din reached up. Even through the leather of his gloves, he could feel the heat in Dameron’s face as he tilted up that firm jaw. He traced the sharp outline of Dameron’s mouth, and Dameron’s eyes fluttered shut. His lips parted, waiting for Din to push further.

‘What have you got that can cover your eyes?’ Din asked.

’Scarf, shirt,’ Dameron answered immediately. He’d thought about it.

Din considered. Neither would be perfectly secure, but then again, neither was a proper blindfold. This was always a risk.

‘Or you could keep this on,’ Dameron murmured, and he couldn’t hide the flush that swept over his cheeks.

Plenty of people were into that. It would be easier—it _was_ easier, when Din was so inclined. But it had been different with Dameron, last time. It hadn’t been like that with anyone since.

Dameron trailed a finger down Din’s breastplate, raising an eyebrow. Beskar had a lot of things, but it didn’t have sensors.

‘If I didn’t want to touch you, I’d have stayed on the roof,’ Din said.

Dameron smirked. ‘But you’d have stayed.’

Cocky.

‘Get the scarf,’ Din said.

Dameron’s back straightened automatically at the tone of Din’s voice. Not just accustomed to taking orders: the way his eyes widened, he enjoyed it.

Din took the opportunity to check the room. Doors secure; Dameron had tinted the windows to black. No bugs picked up by his sensors. Safe.

The scarf Dameron produced was thick and opaque. He held it up for Din to examine. Soft enough not to scratch, but unlikely to slip out of a knot. Din stretched it, holding the fabric up to the light: good enough.

Dameron was getting fidgety, fingernails leaving half-moon indents on his inner thigh. Din made a point of glancing at them, and Dameron’s cock twitched just from the attention.

‘Ready?’ Din held the scarf out.

Dameron drew a long, shuddering breath, and nodded. He shut his eyes, pulling his curls out of the way. His neck arched when the fabric met the bridge of his nose, and Din wound it snugly around twice. He nudged Dameron with his knee to prompt him to turn around, and finished securing the knot at the back of his neck.

‘Tilt your head up,’ Din said.

‘A little light’s getting through,’ Dameron reported, gesturing where the scarf couldn’t follow the contour of his cheeks.

‘I’ll stay behind you,’ Din told him. Dameron leaned back, until his shoulders were touching the beskar.

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said. He rolled his hips to emphasise the point. A satisfied snort escaped him when his ass met the obvious bulge in Din’s pants. ‘Sounds good for you, too.’

Din hummed, placing his hands on Dameron’s hips. Dameron allowed himself to be steered him toward the bed, ever pliant. He knelt on the covers, weight drifting back against Din’s chest, until Din got him settled on all fours.

Dameron arched his back. That was a view to die for.

Din took his gloves off, laying them on the table. The temptation was too much: he cupped Dameron’s ass, fingers digging into the meat of it. Dameron yelped in delight, shoving into the touch. Din worked his way down, over dense thighs that he’d been watching for so long, feeling the muscle bunch and shift in response. Dameron’s cock hung red and heavy between them, balls tight with need, but Din left him that way for now. If he started, there was no promising he’d stop, and there were better things to do.

His weapons, he rested within easy reach. The way Dameron’s head tilted, he was listening to how Din undressed, but not trying to peek. Boots and harnesses first. Cuisses and tassets, set down gently.

Breastplate, pauldrons.

Another touch, this time fingers skating up Dameron’s spine, checking on him. The air rushed out of Dameron’s lungs, shoulders hunching as Din approached, palms smoothing out until some of the tension eased out of Dameron’s back. The heat radiating from his skin was immense, the thrum of his heartbeat so strong.

His hand rested at the back of Dameron’s neck. Reassurance for both of them: that Din was still nearby, that Dameron’s blindfold was tight.

‘There,’ Din murmured. He settled—Din suspected more from the firm tone of voice than any inclination to slow down. ‘Soon.’

Din drew a breath, and let it out so heavily it fogged his visor. He unclipped the catch. Lifted it.

Another breath, deeper this time. The dizzying rush of the hotel room’s scent: wood, oil, linen. The fresh tang of Dameron’s sweat, a hint of familiarity to it.

He set the helmet down without a sound, next to his blaster. Closed his eyes, counted the beats of his heart, and let the shiver subside.

The cape and gambeson went next, folded neatly over a chair. Finally, his shirt, socks, and pants, already starting to itch in the warmth of the room.

The pile of the carpet under his toes. The shifting centre of balance without armour. The tickling of the hair of his forearm, without sleeves. Even his breathing sounded different.

Dameron was patient through all of it. He’d get the full extent of Din’s gratitude, for that.

When Din touched him again, the shudder ran all the way up Dameron’s spine. There was tension under his skin, so carefully contained, but obvious in the way Dameron leaned into Din’s hands as they slid from his hips to his waist. Din kept him steady as he knelt on the bed, Dameron shuffling his thighs wider to make space for him, inching backwards to rut against Din.

‘Lube’s in my bag,’ Dameron waved a hand in its direction, bold as anything.

’Not yet,’ Din said, admiring how Dameron’s shoulders bunched in frustration.

‘No?’ Dameron couldn’t hide the whining tone. ‘You feel ready to me.’

He pressed his ass to Din’s cock, which throbbed in response. Din arched over him, so his chin rested on Dameron’s shoulder. His fingers dug into Dameron’s hips reflexively, overwhelmed by the sensation of skin on skin.

‘You’re not begging me yet,’ he growled. Dameron quailed underneath him. His hips rocked, beseeching, and Din humoured him with a brief thrust.

Dameron let out a ragged groan, thighs splaying wider.

‘Easy,’ Din said, and Dameron ignored him. Din nipped the skin of his shoulder and Dameron gasped, tensing.

That was interesting. Din pressed his nose into the muscle, breathing the musk there. It was still on his tongue, salt with a bitter note, richer than any taste he could recall. His lips dragged across the clenched muscle of Dameron’s shoulder, the slightest scrape of teeth. The vibration of Dameron’s groan was there under his skin, felt as much as heard. Din sank his teeth in and Dameron almost collapsed. Din had to scoop his hands under Dameron’s waist to keep him upright. One hand on his chest, feeling it flutter, one hand catching every quiver in Dameron’s belly.

He sank his teeth in, and Dameron wailed. His weight shifted to one elbow as he tried to reach down, to touch himself again. Din smiled, arm shifting to block Dameron’s path. Dameron huffed a laugh, shoving back. Din relented, hand sliding away from Dameron’s waist to run down his flank and squeeze his thigh.

A whimper escaped Dameron when he could reach his cock, relieving some of the pressure. Din allowed it for a moment, and then—gently, testing the waters—slapped Dameron’s thigh.

 _‘Oh,’_ Dameron gasped, surging into the prickling heat of Din’s palm.

‘Said I wanted to be the one to touch you,’ Din reminded him.

‘So do it again,’ Dameron said, the edge of a dare in his voice.

‘Yeah?’ Din was smirking, and Dameron could surely feel it.

Dameron snarled wordlessly, and Din landed a sharp smack. The snarl became a whine.

Din stroked his hand over the spot, easing away some of the shock. He sat back on his heels to examine the reddened print left on Dameron’s thigh. It was already getting fainter. From this angle, it was impossible to ignore how much thigh there was to work with.

He slapped the other, so they matched. Dameron yelped, hand moving faster on his cock. Din reached to grab his elbow, stilling him.

‘Did I say you could?’

Dameron unleashed a string of curses that were only half in Basic. But he didn’t fight Din’s grip.

‘Tie me.’

‘Excuse me?’ Din had heard him perfectly well.

‘The shirt,’ Dameron gestured to it, then placed his forearms together, head cradled between them. ‘If you don’t want me getting off, you’re gonna have to stop me.’

Din snorted. ‘Alright.’

He scooped the shirt off the floor, picking up the bottle that stuck out of Dameron’s pack while he was up. Then he circled around the bed to Dameron’s hands. Dameron moved like he was magnetic, leaning into Din’s weight when the mattress dipped. Din took a moment to check the blindfold was tight. Then he carded his hands through Dameron’s hair, just to feel the curls bounce and twist under his fingers. Dameron preened. Din’s blunt nails scratched lightly into Dameron’s scalp, eliciting a pleased humming, then his touch slipped over the blindfold to Dameron’s cheek before Din settled both hands on his wrists. Dameron was malleable, adjusting his posture so Din could twist the shirt and weave a loose binding from the elbow to the wrist. He tucked one sleeve around the other, checking it was taut enough that Dameron would feel confined, but not unbreakable. It wouldn’t be difficult to escape from, but it wasn’t meant to be.

‘Feel good?’

Dameron’s hands flexed. ‘Feels good.’

Din shuffled around until he was behind Dameron again, hands trailing along Dameron’s body until they were back at his thighs. Dameron squirmed eagerly, but he didn’t break the bonds.

Din tapped with the flat of his hand: a question, an offer. Dameron nodded vigorously.

The strike landed right on the swell of Dameron’s ass. Din’s own gasp was drowned out by Dameron’s. This time the mark was clear, a bright and smarting impression of Din’s hand.

Din gave him a matching one on the other side. His ears rang with the sound of it, fingers tingling from the impact. Dameron was writhing, struggling to stay upright, hips bucking uselessly for more. So he got more.

Half a dozen slaps on each cheek, until the shapes of fingers overlapped and Dameron’s skin was burning to the touch. Din laid his palms gently on the searing flesh and Dameron convulsed, expecting another blow. Din soothed him, long sweeping circles that eased the sharp spikes of sensation. Dameron’s breathing was hitched, a reedy whine coming from him like it was being pulled.

‘Still good?’ Din asked.

A breathless laugh punched out of Dameron. ‘Not if you stop.’

Din’s touch wove its way down to Dameron’s thighs. He dug his fingers into the meat of them, feeling how they clenched tight in response. The skin of his back glowing with sweat, droplets clinging in the dip of his spine.

Din struck and Dameron buckled, falling flat on the mattress. He kept the blows light this time, but rained them down relentlessly, a staccato rhythm that kept Dameron moaning, thrusting helplessly into the sheets. When Din began to slow, Dameron’s breathing didn’t.

‘Hey,’ Din murmured. Dameron was shaking, as Din’s hands scooped under his hips, pulling him back up onto knees and elbows. ‘There you go.’

Dameron mumbled a reply, visibly shaking.

‘I got you,’ Din promised, rubbing over each tensed muscle. He reeled Dameron back in from the edge, hands steady, until Dameron could string words together.

‘’m okay,’ he mumbled, chest heaving as he drew a full breath in and blew it out. ‘Yeah, you got me.’

Din placed a kiss at the small of Dameron’s back. His own breath was coming out rough, making Dameron shiver when he exhaled.

‘Okay,’ he whispered, and his mouth slipped lower.

He rolled his tongue around Dameron’s tailbone, hands steadying Dameron’s hips as they tried to beg for more. He darted to one side, nipping the soft flesh, replacing teeth with a kiss even as Dameron squeaked in surprise. His tongue worked slowly along the cleft of Dameron’s ass: the promise was clear, but the deadline wasn’t.

Dameron was a mess already, shivering all over and shoving into Din’s face. Din held him tightly, spreading his cheeks and stilling him, then lapped a thick, firm swipe from behind Dameron’s balls to his tailbone.

‘Please, please _please,’_ Dameron was whimpering. ‘Come _on…’_

Din had to pause, to grin, before diving back in. Each stroke of his tongue was sharper, shorter, until he was circling around Dameron’s hole. Dameron was keening, already desperate when Din finally licked, following through with a brush of his lips.

You couldn’t do this in a helmet.

His tongue flicked and laved and looped, whatever pattern would make Dameron twitch and cry. Dameron’s ass was slick with spit and sweat, quivering with every touch of lips and teeth and tongue. Din held him firm: if he didn’t, Dameron was liable to thrust back and break his nose. Dameron was bleating, and when Din began to work his tongue inside, it dragged forth a sob.

Din prised him open meticulously, while Dameron shook like he was going to fall apart, his cries so loud they echoed off the walls. Din adjusted his weight so he could bring one hand between Dameron’s thighs and find his cock, still so hard it must surely be hurting. He stroked lightly, and it still made Dameron howl. His cock was throbbing with need, curved eagerly toward his navel, and Din mapped it out by touch as his tongue thrust into Dameron.

Dameron’s voice was hoarse as he mewled out a plea. Din petted him, slicking his fingers with the profuse wetness leaking from the tip. He offered one firm grip down the shaft, and before Dameron could react he circled forefinger and thumb around the base, tightening until Dameron gasped, rocking uselessly as Din reeled him back from the impending orgasm.

Din slipped his tongue free, and Dameron screamed.

 _‘Please,’_ he sobbed, words slurring together. ‘Now, okay, _now_ I’m begging you…’

Din placed kisses from Dameron’s rim to his tailbone, his lips as sweet as his fingers were unforgiving. ‘Begging?’

 _‘Yes, begging,’_ Dameron writhed. ‘Want you inside me.’

Din released Dameron’s cock—he whimpered—to nudge one finger at Dameron’s rim.

‘Not _fingers,’_ Dameron hissed. ‘Just do it.’

‘Could hurt,’ Din warned him.

‘Don’t care,’ Dameron snarled. _‘Please.’_

Din didn’t need more persuading than that. Not when he was hard to the point of aching, biting back a groan as he spread Dameron’s lube over himself. He drizzled more into Dameron’s ass, followed by a sharp tap when he wriggled impatiently. Din edged forward on his knees. He couldn’t hold back a grin as he teased Dameron with the tip, and Dameron muttered quite a few words he didn’t mean. Din inched into him, as gently as he could, until Dameron took charge and sunk back until the head of Din’s cock slipped into him. It drew a gasp from Din, the tight and sudden heat almost overwhelming. He swallowed thickly, and traced his fingertips around Dameron’s rim, checking he was slick enough, that the stretch wouldn’t injure him.

‘Come on,’ Dameron breathed. ‘Come on, I _need you.’_

Din’s thumb rubbed a soothing circle at Dameron’s spine. He took his time admiring how Dameron’s ass looked with a cock sinking into it. Every inch further seemed impossibly tight, but Dameron was flexible—more than that, he was greedy. When he was sheathed to the hilt, he could barely breathe, his heart beating in his teeth as Dameron shuddered, constricting and adjusting. Dameron’s hips ground in a sinuous circle, and it was Din’s turn to whimper.

He withdrew, just barely, before thrusting back in. Dameron groaned, back arching as he rolled with the movement. A rhythm built between them, short bursts that kept them close together. The muscles in Dameron’s back rippled and flexed, while his head was still buried in the crook of his elbows. Din found himself distracted by Dameron’s fingers, curling and twitching uselessly, his wrists still bound together.

He thrust harder. Dameron bounced forward a little on the bed, moaning. Din drew his hips back, almost pulling out, savouring the thready whine it prompted from Dameron before slamming home. A growl rumbled in his chest as Dameron constricted, so tight it was like he could hold Din in place. But he couldn’t: Din grabbed both Dameron’s hips and pounded into him. He couldn’t catch his own breath, ears ringing with the shouts Dameron unleashed with each push. He could feel how Dameron shuddered around his cock, and had to bite down hard on his own lip to keep from coming too soon.

His skin was too tight, the pleasure coiling up his spine so fast. It was too much, and not enough, and Dameron was still begging, with every movement and every cry wrung out of him. Din pitched forward, chest pressed to Dameron’s back, the slick-sweat heat trapped between them. His mouth fell open: this angle was deeper, and Poe’s voice got lower, rasping, tremors wracking him. Din’s nose was buried in the nape of Dameron’s neck: he reached out to grab a fistful of curls and Dameron screamed, reaching clumsily to show him: tug harder, until his head was craning back. He undulated beneath Din, shouts more like sobs as Din drove into him. They reached a rough and merciless pace that neither of them could control anymore, Din echoing Dameron’s gasps, holding him so tight they were one creature for a moment, flooded with need and desperate for air. Then Dameron tensed, shivers convulsing through him, his cock untouched as he came. Din wasn’t going to last, even as Dameron’s hips snapped through the aftershocks, sharper and deeper than before. Din had one hand in his hair and one holding his waist, clinging to him as he buried himself, a yell torn out of him as he spilled inside Dameron. He was blinking back stars, still deep inside Dameron, lungs heaving as he found his breath again. He carefully untangled his hand, and it took him a moment to recognise the faint imprint of teeth in Dameron’s back. He kissed the spot and Dameron made a pleased but exhausted sound. Din grunted: he was probably crushing Dameron into the mattress. Both of them whimpered as he withdrew his cock, clumsily unwinding the shirt from Dameron’s wrists and using it to wipe him clean.

Dameron was languid, letting Din roll him onto his side to finish cleaning him up. The blindfold was still firmly on his head: Din carefully brushed a curl that was caught in it. Dameron’s arms snaked around him, and Din was still hazy and prone, relishing in the warmth of Dameron’s body as the sweat began to cool on his skin. Their noses bumped together.

He should leave.

He kissed Dameron. It was a soft and clumsy thing, and it probably could have tasted a lot better. And it was foolish, an unjustifiable risk. But Din was dick-drunk and he missed it more than he’d ever admit.

‘Hey,’ Dameron murmured, husky.

‘You okay?’ Din asked, fingers tracing the edge of the blindfold. Dameron chased the touch as it tickled his cheek.

‘Better than,’ he cracked a lopsided smile. ‘You?’

Din sighed. In ten minutes every muscle was going to ache, but right now, he was molten pleasure. ‘Next time, you take the top.’

Dameron chuckled, nodding. He nuzzled blindly, catching another kiss, touching whatever parts of Din’s skin he could find. ‘You want the ‘fresher?’

Din squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t stay. That was more than reckless: that was sabotage. Dameron knew it, even if neither of them wanted it to be true.

‘Yeah,’ he groaned, rolling away. He sat up, cracking his neck from one side and then the other, and started collecting his clothes. He reached back to scratch Dameron’s scalp again, finding the knot of the blindfold. ’You can take it off, when you hear the door.’

Dameron twisted his neck to kiss the inside of Din’s wrist. Din felt himself flush.

The hotel was expensive enough to have running water. Still, he was quick: no need to leave Dameron waiting, and maybe he didn’t want to wash every trace of it off his skin yet. The heat took the edge off the exhaustion, and even as he buried his face in the towel, it was worth the time it took. He turned away from the mirror, getting into pants, shirt, and helmet before returning to the bedroom.

Dameron was sprawled on the bed, looking rumpled and shining and good enough to eat—again. Half-lidded eyes followed Din as he put on the gambeson, the cape, and the beskar. Maybe Dameron’s gaze lingered at his hands and feet as before they disappeared into gloves and socks. Din stopped looking as he fixed his boots, belts and weapons. He couldn’t.

‘Alright,’ he said. He was lingering at the door. There wasn’t anything else to say. He cast a glance back at Dameron.

‘Wait,’ Dameron frowned, sitting forward. ‘Did you say _next time?’_

Din inclined his head, and walked out the door.


End file.
